


Garden of Eos

by GwiYeoWeo



Series: the sleeping night [5]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Bad Humor, Gen, Somnus!Noctis, ardyn really needs to chill on the drama, eos gets overpopulated sometimes, so etro sends her bois for some gardening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:22:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27357199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwiYeoWeo/pseuds/GwiYeoWeo
Summary: Eos is a garden, all lively and beautiful and cultivated by Etro herself. But sometimes it flourishes too much too quickly, and its own flowers suffocate the infant buds, strangle them with coiling vines, and steal all the sun's warmth for themselves.So every few eons, the goddess sends her two beloved gardeners to prune and weed her darling Eos, to reap and harvest the world's bounties, so that it may once more grow in beauty.
Relationships: Ardyn Izunia & Noctis Lucis Caelum, Ardyn Izunia & Somnus Lucis Caelum
Series: the sleeping night [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1249103
Comments: 4
Kudos: 50





	Garden of Eos

**Author's Note:**

> late halloween-ish fic ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

It is a cycle, and it is a fact.

In stories, both old and new, in ancient texts hidden under ruins and in encyclopedias held in libraries, there is a pattern. There is the myth of creation, the theory of how life came to be and speculations of what is true and what is fiction, but always and without fail, there is a pattern. Life suddenly bursts, followed by the age of growth and fertility, only to fall and decline into ruin. Kingdoms will flourish, and either by the hubris of a king or through the might of a conquering nation, they fall. And they rebuild. Humanity sees a common foe, sees their numbers halved or even quartered, until a hero or a remedy is found. Life springs forth again, fresh as a budding flower; until again, time takes its due and those petals fall to rot once more. 

There is the darkness of ruin, followed by the light of hope. 

And they play their roles perfectly, in every round Etro sends her little stewards to play: the hero and the villain, the traitor and the avenger, the plague and the cure. 

She watches from on high, a goddess among men, a Creator among her children and her Astrals, on her sparkling throne that encompasses the entirety of her Star and its brilliance. Life gleams with the spectrum of its inhabitants — nature, humanity, and everything in between — and she coos at the swaths of colors their combined souls paint, a neverending canvas she has perched at her sill to admire for eternity. 

Until her little garden outgrows itself, when the soft vines turn themselves into choking thorns that strangle and pierce, when the trees grow so tall their roots devour all the nutrients in the soil and their branches keep all the sun's light to themselves. 

So she prods at her dutiful sons, wakes them from their slumber, and sends them down to Eos to prune and cull. And while she enjoys spectating the games and rules they so like to make, it's only important that they enjoy themselves too. 

  
  
  


Once upon a time, they took on mortal skins and played as two almighty kings, each one vying to conquer the other, with all the world as a chess board. When all the knights and the bishops and the rooks were cleared out, they made pawns out of countrymen and eventually, out of round-faced children when those numbers ran dry as well. And when Etro called upon her two sons to return home, satisfied with how well they’ve cleaned her little garden, they met in each others’ arms and slid their swords into the other’s heart, shedding their false forms to come running back to Mother’s lap.

He’s forgotten what name he took on that time, but he rather likes Ardyn. He especially likes that he’s able to spend the beginning of this new game with his “brother” Somnus, even if they’ll separate later. It had been his own idea, after all.

“There’s going to be a prophecy and a sacrifice. Humans love reading about those, after all.” Ardyn digs his stick through the loose dirt of their inner palace gardens, sitting on his haunches as he glances over at Somnus to make sure he’s paying attention. “One for their books.”

“I don’t like the idea of being the jealous one,  _ brother. _ ” Somnus runs his own stick through Ardyn’s scrawled out plan, crossing a neat line through the dead ancient language they’ve chosen to write in. “You played the hero last time. Is it not my turn?” 

“Spoilsport,” Ardyn sighs, rolling his eyes and pushing away Somnus’ stick with his own, that he may rewrite the rules of their game. “Fine then, how about this?”

They look like two little boys, two little brothers drawing innocent pictures into the fertile soil of their mother’s garden, playing make-believe of old stories and heroes and villains. A servant skirts by behind them, smiling at their imagination and none the wiser.

“We’ve the Starscourge to work with, so we’ll play on that.”

“This is quite the tragic tale you’ve weaved this time. And woefully dramatic, I must say.” Somnus reads through the lines of the script written into the dirt with unimpressed eyes. “Why can’t you ever decide on something normal for a change?”

Ardyn laughs with all the glee of an innocent boy. “Because we’re gods, silly.”

  
  
  


Somnus drives Ardyn out of the palace. However the future historians will interpret that, neither one cares. Lives are lost, taken and culled, but not enough. Somnus strolls through the garden again, smaller now that their mortal mother no longer lives, and remembers the patch of dirt where he and Ardyn first made their plans. Only a matter of time before the first act of their play is done, when he can finally reunite with Ardyn, however brief that will be. He rather misses him. He knows Ardyn feels the same.

  
  
  


They made a ferocious, terrifying sight, enough to convince even Bahamut himself. Somnus hadn’t planned on Aera’s death, but her sacrifice wasn’t for naught at the very least. Ardyn used it as a catalyst, a valid excuse to let the Scourge run rampage through his veins, and he played quite the horrifying monster at that. Theatrical, as always.

“Leave me,” Somnus orders his men away, and the heavy footfalls signal their obedience. They may have needed an audience during their clash — a foul demon versus a righteous king — but he’d like a private respite for just the two of them. It’ll be several hundred years before they can see each other again. Alone now, he steps closer to Ardyn, dripping with black ichor and pierced with heavy chains, entombed within this holy prison. He tenderly cups the side of Ardyn’s face, a touch so gentle and meek despite the apparent malice he had just regarded him with hours ago.

Ardyn opens his eyes and smiles, looking upon Somnus as a dearest friend rather than the incarnation of all he loathes. “I must say, that was quite the show. Do you think Mother enjoyed it?” he says, mild and in good spirits despite his situation. 

“I’m sure.” Somnus offers him his own smile. “Are you going to sleep for a while? Or do you intend to ride out all of” — Somnus gestures a hand to the tomb — “This.” 

“I think I’ll sleep for a while. I’m afraid there’s not much entertainment to be found in simply waiting out the five, six centuries.” 

“Very well.” Somnus raises himself to his toes, and when Ardyn bows his head and closes his eyes, he presses a chaste kiss to his forehead. “Rest well, brother.”

  
  
  


When Ardyn opens his eyes again, it’s to the distant echo of his brother’s voice and the clamor of steel upon stone.

  
  
  


“Impatient as always.” He greets without ever looking up from his phone, thumbs tapping away at the rhythm game he’s determined to S-rank. 

Ardyn hops off the windowsill, landing in the prince’s chambers with all the soft silence of a cat. Considering the stunt he pulled off with Ifrit just a few years before, he’s just a bit disappointed with the lack of security around the city, let alone the Citadel. But he gives the King the benefit of the doubt given his own powers and abilities; there isn’t a lock or vault that could ever hope to keep him out.

“What a warm welcome, Somnus—”

“Noctis.” He flicks his eyes up, now that his song’s finished on a paltry A-rank. “I go by Noctis now.”

“What a warm welcome, Noctis.” Ardyn curls his lips into a smile and strides over to the bed Noctis lounges on, back supported by all the luxurious pillows afforded to royalty. He plucks one out and places it to the left of Noctis, helping himself to the bed and sighs a breath of contentment when he sinks into the comfort of it. “I’m almost jealous of you, living in such splendor.”

“It was your idea.” Noctis points out, shoving an elbow into Ardyn’s side. “Besides, wasn’t I supposed to be the jealous one?”

“Are you?”

“Hardly. I wasn’t the one rotting away in an island prison,” Noctis says, narrowing his eyes, “Which, I still think was entirely unnecessary. What was even the point of that?”

Ardyn spreads both his arms wide, one pushing itself into Noctis’ space and knocking his phone out of his hands, and ignores Noctis’ mild irritation in favor of his own grand dramatics. “To give all th’ world something to entertain themselves with a few decades down the line. Despite their claims of love for peace and tranquility, they love the idea of an evil villain — such as, say, a man betrayed by the gods and turned mad under darkness and isolation.”

“But you didn’t have to —”

“But I could, and therefore I did.”

Noctis stares at him for a heartbeat then decides it’s best to give up on talking sense. “Next time I’m going to use a world war instead of drawing it out like this,” he decides, picking up his phone to retry his game. “This one’s taking too long.”

“Spoilsport.”

Ardyn leans in and watches Noctis tap away on his screen along with the rhythm, resting some of his weight against the other’s side. Noctis allows this, since though they have the rest of eternity together, they’ve been apart for a few centuries too many when otherwise they’d be sleeping together at Mother’s side. Distance makes the heart grow fonder indeed.

But when Ardyn splays his hand across his phone screen, perhaps not enough, and Noctis kicks him out of his room.

  
  
  


They meet again at Galdin Quay, then Lestallum, and so on and so forth. They keep up the pretenses when eyes are on them, but Noctis steals away into the night and creeps under shadows and silence. Without fail, Ardyn finds him. They chat. 

Sometimes, Noctis expresses his guilt. It is not the first nor is it the last he’s deceived comrades and brothers in arms to carry on a charade. He’s done worse.

Sometimes, Ardyn mulls over his own. 

Other times, they talk of long-forgotten ages, the tales they’ve weaved and the lies they’ve played. 

Today, they stand in front of the Crystal chained up within the metal confines of Gralea. 

“I imagine the Draconian would throw a fit if he knew that even he’s been but a pawn in our ruse,” Ardyn says, watching the ethereal lights shimmer and sway inside that sharp, bright void. “I never liked him.”

“You and me both.” Noctis flicks off a ball of lint into the Crystal, wondering if he’d find it when he joins as well. The idea of pelting lintballs at Bahamut suddenly comes to him. “Arrogant asshole.”

They stand there, together, in a moment of silence as they watch the auroras dance and flicker, until Noctis senses his comrades. They’ll be here soon, to help reclaim the Crystal and confront Ardyn on all his dastardly deeds, so unaware that he and Noctis are partners in crime in this little story. 

“Well, brother. I’ll be seeing you later.”

Whatever Ardyn replies back to him is drowned out in the roar of the Crystal’s embrace and the iron thunder of Bahamut’s welcome.

  
  
  


_ Come, my darlings. Return to Mother. _

Noctis wakes with a smile on his lips and salt on his skin, the crashing waves a mere echo to the resounding voice in his mind. 

  
  
  


“It’s time to go home, Ardyn.” 

Noctis climbs up the winding steps, and Ardyn rises from the throne to meet him. 

They could fight, bring about the final battle of the millennium if they wanted. But for who? And for what? There’s no audience here, only Noctis’ comrades who have fallen asleep under Ardyn’s curse, alive but dead to this small moment in time. And Noctis is tired, a certain weariness still lingering despite his ten-year rest in the Crystal, a tiredness that only a Mother’s soothing touch can satiate. 

Ardyn, too, slouches against Noctis’ body, and Noctis brings his arms around to hold him, splaying one hand in the center of his back. He feels Ardyn do the same. Noctis can’t help his mortal heart that ticks up in a frantic beat, an automatic response to what he knows is to come. 

“It’s been a wild ride, hasn’t it?” Noctis laughs, tired but content. “Next time, calm down with the theatrics?”

Ardyn only shakes his head, but Noctis feels a smile spread there, where Ardyn’s lips press into his neck. There’s a soft ring of a sword and a heavy weight on his back, the sharp promise of a welcome home. “Never, brother dear.”

He brings his own blade out, settles it warmly where his palm once was.

They race each other back home, where Mother extends her hand and beckons them to her side once again. 


End file.
